Red Threads
by Morgan Steelgrave
Summary: The battle between Van and Dilandau has gone too far, and Folken wants to do something about it. Will it work, or will the two destroy each other in the process? Complete...for now. ^_~
1. The Plan

My first attempt at an Esca fic! *cheers* I have found a wonderful new bishie (well, sort of) to worship in everyone's favorite pyro. Oh, the angst fics that are probably to come.  
  
Warnings...A/U I suppose (though I think it *could* fit in the series world), and slightly OOC.  
  
Disclaimer: Vision of Escaflowne is not mine. Much, much cooler people own it, whereas I (read: LOSER) sit huddled in my dorm all day, writing these things for kicks. Please don't sue. The original portion of this story is MINE, however, so please ask before carting it off somewhere. I won't mind, I just like to keep my fics on a short leash. ^_^  
  
  
  
=== "Red Threads" by Morgan Steelgrave - Prologue ===  
  
  
  
"Dornkirk-sama," Folken bowed, his good arm placed across his chest in a gesture of fidelity. When he straightened again before the huge monitor, it became apparent to the aging lord that a smoky wisp of irritation was seething through the Strategos' mastered visage. Dornkirk raised one bushy eyebrow in mild surprise.  
  
"Yes, my Strategos?"  
  
"There is an issue I wish to address," Folken said, as politely as possible while speaking through gritted teeth.  
  
"Such as?"  
  
"If my Lord would observe the monitor over Palas..." Folken could feel his head pounding as he flipped the switch to display the view in question. He hated headaches. He hated them even more than the accursed throbbing he sometimes felt where his right arm had once been. Headaches were such a nuisance because they impaired his most important asset; he could never think quite properly when his head hurt. And it had never hurt quite as much as it did at that moment.  
  
Dornkirk found himself wondering absently what had irritated the infamous deadpan Folken Fanel so much. He looked as if his head hurt. Dornkirk's drooping eyes met with a staticky image of the capital of Asturia slowly burning to the ground. Civilian screams could be heard, along with thunderous crashes and clangs of guymelef armor.  
  
"What--?!" The ancient leader of the Zaibach Empire squinted harder at the screen in an attempt to make out what was destroying the city of Palas. His question was answered as two guymelefs came into view, locked in mortal combat, completely unaware of their surroundings as they tried desperately to destroy one another. One was unmistakably white, and the other was a familiar dark red. An Alseides and Escaflowne, so intent on killing each other that it never occurred to them that they were demolishing the capital of Asturia in the process.  
  
"Dilandau," Dornkirk growled. The footage was halted abruptly and Folken's tired figure returned to the monitor. "Strategos, what is the meaning of this? Did you permit this...this...catfight?"  
  
"No, my Lord, I did not." Folken pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, but the action neither concealed the fury in his voice nor alleviated his headache. "That is why I am here, to report that Dilandau went out without permission, without backup, to attack the king of Fanelia. My brother, of course, fought back. To make a long story short, Dornkirk-sama, this grudge they have against each other is in the middle of destroying the city."  
  
"Dilandau has become even more reckless than before. He is beyond control, I take it? Bring him in. We will correct this error in conduct," the ancient leader ordered.  
  
"Wait, if it please my Lord," Folken stalled, "I have another idea. Perhaps we can correct this permanently, without the use of valuable fate-alteration devices." And without the undue torture for all parties involved, he added mentally.  
  
The Strategos held his breath in the weighty silence for a moment, until Dornkirk finally assented. "I am listening," though he was still clearly displeased with the leader of the Dragonslayers.  
  
"Yes, my Lord," Folken smiled. "If you would permit me to contact the Asturians, we might be able to work out something mutually beneficial."  
  
* * *  
  
"Van! Van, what do you think you're doing?! VA-AN!!" Allen Schezar tried getting the headstrong king's attention, but there was no interrupting his battle with that demon spawn from Zaibach.  
  
Allen shut Sherezade's visor with a curse. Demon spawn or no, Van's little promenade through the city's river district was slowly reducing the city to shambles. At this rate, this sworn rivalry was going to be their mutual undoing. He would have claimed such an obsession was less than what he expected from the young Fanelian, but upon reconsideration Allen decided his fixation on Dilandau fit Van's personality perfectly.  
  
The Holy Knight picked his way back through the rubble, nursing an injured shoulder he had received while trying to intervene. Neither Van nor Dilandau had wanted him to, and between the two combatants Allen had been knocked clear back into the market strip on the other side of the river. Where Van had gotten that kind of 'melef skill Allen had no idea, because all the faults he had witnessed in the boy's fighting to date seemed to vanish when Dilandau was in front of him.  
  
In an odd way, the crazed Zaibach soldier brought out the best in Van, at least in a military sense. Allen shuddered and shoved that thought out of his mind. The last thing he needed to think about now was how that Dilandau creature seemed to complete Van Fanel.  
  
Glancing down, he could see Hitomi, Merle, and the princess waving at him from a relatively untouched area of sidewalk. Allen flipped up his visor. "There's no reasoning with him," he called down to them. Hitomi and the other girls climbed aboard his lowered 'melef gauntlet, away from the rubble.  
  
"We've got to do something! At this rate there won't be a Palas to save!" she cried, wiping short brown hair out of her eyes.  
  
"You really weren't kidding with all that death and destruction babble," Merle sulked. Hitomi threw her a pointed glance, and Merle responded by sticking out her tongue and pulling at one eye.  
  
"Did you try to intervene?" Millerna asked. Allen nodded grimly toward the damaged right arm of Sherezade.  
  
"Yes, but it didn't accomplish much. They just teamed up against me until I was out of the way," he muttered.  
  
"Well, if there's one thing the two of them can agree on, it's that they hate each other," Hitomi pointed out, surveying the destruction from her higher vantage point. She watched the two guymelefs attacking one another relentlessly on the other side of the city.  
  
"Van-sama," Merle whimpered. "I've never seen him so angry."  
  
"Or so careless about hurting innocent people," Hitomi added, warily regarding the fires that had sprung up throughout the urban area. Palas was going to have to be completely rebuilt from the ground up. Even if Van and the Zaibach soldier ceased their battle, the fires were out of control. They would just have to burn themselves out. At least most of the citizens had been evacuated, except for a skeleton crew of army officers and the last stand of bureaucrats who were just now fleeing the area in their coaches.  
  
Hitomi squinted at the black coach she had spotted. It was not fleeing as she had first thought. It was heading right for Sherezade.  
  
"Allen-san! Down there!" she pointed to the approaching carriage. Allen scowled at it from his perch.   
  
"That's a Zaibach carriage," he hissed, transferring the other passengers to the 'melef's shoulder so he could have free use of his remaining good arm.  
  
The vehicle came to a stop right below them, the fires reflecting in its glossy black finish, making it seem something out of hell itself. The door swung open, and out stepped a tall, pale man wearing the long, sweeping black of a Zaibach Madoshi. Allen identified him immediately as the representative who had been present at his audience with King Aston.  
  
"Allen Schezar," the man called. His voice was deep and dark, every bit as chilling as his physical appearance.  
  
"What do you want, Strategos?" the Holy Knight demanded, his hostility plain.  
  
"I wish to propose a temporary alliance," Folken replied calmly. He managed to restrain his anger when his proposition was met with a bitter laugh from the girls, though his eye twitched perceptibly. "I think it would benefit all those involved, including the city of Palas."  
  
"*What* city of Palas?" Allen retorted hotly. "Your Dragonslayer is in the process of destroying it at the moment."  
  
"As is your young king of Fanelia." Folken smiled ruefully. "You see, the blame is equally divided. I must say that Zaibach's motives are ultimately peaceful. We never wished for such mass destruction. It is counter-productive."  
  
"And what about Fanelia?" Hitomi called down, hurt plain in her wide green eyes. "Was that counter-productive? It certainly seemed like it was the Dragonslayers who destroyed it."  
  
"You're right," the Strategos answered, "it was the Dragonslayers. Zaibach never had any intention of leveling the city. It was a certain captain of the Dragonslayers whose ideas were a bit more zealous than Zaibach policy would have liked." It was not a total lie, Folken thought; he had given the order to attack, but he had never commanded the Dragonslayers to be quite so...thorough.  
  
"Dilandau." Allen ground his teeth in frustration. "So what are you getting at? You're saying that none of this is your fault, that all the blame goes to this crazed lunatic? Weren't you the ones who put him in charge of the missions in the first place?"  
  
"Yes, though he was easier to control at the time. Dilandau has had special..." Folken searched for the proper word, "...training. He was conditioned at a very high level to be the best soldier Zaibach could ever hope for. Yet a certain incident with Van triggered a breakdown in Dilandau's disciplinary conditioning. He has been increasingly difficult to control ever since. The results are before you now." He looked around at the chaos that ensued when Van and Dilandau had begun to fight.  
  
"He's right, you know," Millerna agreed quietly. "Van seemed like such a caring young man, always looking out for the innocents. Except when he's around that other soldier, he gets tunnel-visioned. Nothing matters except winning. That's not Van. And politically this situation is no good for either Zaibach or Asturia."  
  
"Not that we'll agree to it, but what do you propose, Folken?" Hitomi asked. Though every thought in her brain was telling her otherwise, in her heart this man from Zaibach seemed trustworthy. She wanted to hear him out, at least.  
  
"I want to put an end to this destructive rivalry between Van and Dilandau. Once that is out of the way, it should be easier to negotiate between our respective sides." The Strategos continued to describe his scheme in detail, and what would be required of the two sides.  
  
"It sounds like it might work," Allen mused. "But how do we know this isn't just a trick to capture Van? You've been trying to get your hands on Escaflowne all this time, what about now?"  
  
"This arrangement will be strictly between us. Neither Zaibach nor Asturia need be involved." Folken's countenance softened slightly as he brought his gaze up to meet Hitomi's. "I am concerned for both Van and Dilandau. I do not wish them to waste their valuable lives on such a petty argument as this."  
  
"Concerned? For Van-sama?" Merle's shock was clearly evident in her voice. "Why would you care about what happens to Van-sama?"  
  
"Because," Hitomi said quietly, "this is Van's brother." Millerna and Merle both regarded her with incredulous disbelief, but upon examining the Strategos more closely, even Millerna could not deny the resemblance to the boy she had met in her royal childhood. Hitomi stared long and hard at the man on the ground below whose deep garnet eyes were so like Van's, trying to find some fault in his plan or in his character, some foreboding catch in her heart, that would warrant a refusal to cooperate. She could find none.  
  
"Well?" Folken asked the girl from the Mystic Moon, "What will it be? Will you help?"  
  
"I think we should do it," Hitomi declared. The other girls looked at each other, then at Hitomi. They nodded in agreement.  
  
"Do you feel anything strange about it, Hitomi?" Allen called up from inside Sherezade, "Anything bad? No visions of the end of the world as we know it?"  
  
Hitomi closed her eyes for a moment, her hand fumbling for her pendant. After a short while she opened them again, shaking her head. "No, Allen. It won't be the end of the world." The Holy Knight, perhaps waiting for her to continue, waited a moment before answering the Strategos.  
  
"Alright. We'll do it. Where do we start?" He allowed the girls to climb from Sherezade's shoulder to the massive hand once again so he could place them on the ground to converse with Folken. As the hand passed in front of the open visor, he caught Hitomi's emerald gaze. There were tears in her eyes. Allen would have said something to her, but she shook them away and bounded down to the Zaibach carriage without a glance back.  
  
* * *  
  
Nestled deep in his liquid metal womb, Dilandau's hands caressed the controls of his Alseides with heated concentration. The right side of his face was throbbing again in anticipation of revenge. Every nerve in his body was tingling, coiled on edge, waiting for the right moments to strike at his enemy. "Come on, come on...don't run away!" He cut off Escaflowne's attempted retreat from the populated area with a volley of crima claws. He punctuated every taunt with a blow to the opposing guymelef. "Van...how can I play with you if you keep *clang*...running *crash*...away?!"  
  
Van tried several times to draw the enraged Dragonslayer away from the city, but his efforts proved futile each time. His enemy simply gave no quarter, and it was not long before Van was returning each slash and parry with equal ferocity, the ailing condition of their urban arena far away and forgotten.  
  
They had been fighting for what felt like forever and a mere moment at once, their fatigue countered by their adrenaline and obsessive lust for winning. There would be no walking away from this fight, no matter what. It would end tonight, that much was certain.  
  
But just as that certainty was ringing in their minds as clear as the clangs of metal against metal and the cries of victory and disappointment as blows were struck and parried, it was questioned by the sudden jerkiness of both guymelefs.  
  
"Piece of junk!" Dilandau muttered, the scowl on his fair forehead deepening from exhilarated concentration to irritation. A fine time for his guymelef to malfunction. It was not responding to his maneuvering. Letting loose a stream of curses, he tugged at the controls of his Alseides. It did no good, however, as the faster he tried to move, the more constricting the liquid metal cockpit became. The 'melef's movements were no longer his own, but almost automatic as it ceased fighting and lurched ungracefully to its knees.  
  
Van could still control Escaflowne, difficult as it had become for some reason. It was as if the signals his own body was sending to the machine were being confused with something else, the 'melef's confusion following the blood ties to Van's own perception. He looked up and saw that Dilandau's guymelef had been disabled somehow as well, though he had lost control of it completely. With a feral grin, Van approached the fallen Alseides with his sword drawn high, ready to make the final blow that would finish the battle once and for all. He drew his arms down, but Escaflowne did not mirror his movements. The guymelef's arms remained upright and unresponsive, sword still poised. Van uttered a vehement curse and jerked harder on the rigging, but the arms still refused to budge. With a sigh, he pulled his arms out of the controls and wiped his sweaty face. It would seem that his certain victory had been turned into an uncertain stalemate.  
  
Intent on finishing the rivalry one way or another, Dilandau grabbed his own sword and slid open the visor and moved to exit his now defunct guymelef. Just as he was climbing down from his perch, however, something very swift and very hard collided with the back of his head before his feet had ever reached the ground. Crimson eyes rolling back into his head as he slipped into unconsciousness, Dilandau fell backwards into the waiting arms of Folken Strategos, whose prosthetic limb it had been that had knocked him out cold.  
  
Van watched this all from inside Escaflowne. His confusion deepened as he saw Folken carry Dilandau away swiftly. Had Zaibach become unhappy with Dilandau's Dragon hunting hobby? It did not matter, the young king told himself as he slid out of his guymelef. That was Folken. He had to follow him. It never occurred to him as he was descending Escaflowne that a similar fate was awaiting him on the ground below, in the form of the blunt end of Allen Schezar's scabbard.  
  
* * *  
  
"Are you sure about this?" Millerna asked, gnawing on a fingernail in a most unladylike manner as she observed their handiwork. Her eyes traveled doubtfully over the two inert forms at their feet.  
  
"I guess so," Allen said with a shrug. He bent down and removed Van's sword for safekeeping. "Everything's gone according to Folken's plan so far."  
  
"I still don't know how he managed to stall the guymelefs like that," Millerna mused. "He created one of them, so I suppose he would know how to stop it. But what about Escaflowne?"  
  
"He's Van-sama's brother," Merle said. "He has a tie to Escaflowne, just like Van-sama does."  
  
"Well, all we can do now is wait and see what happens." Allen cast one last glance over the their invention before drawing Millerna and Merle away.  
  
Hitomi and Folken stood there a moment longer. The girl tore her eyes from the sleeping Van to Folken, who was staring contemplatively.  
  
"You really still care about him, don't you?" she stated more than asked. Folken nodded.  
  
"We are still brothers, no matter what happened in the past. I just want him to be happy. That cannot happen while this competition exists between them." He turned to face Hitomi.  
  
"By 'happy' you mean with you in Zaibach," Hitomi added. Folken's eyes narrowed a fraction, focusing on a lucid pang in his heart.  
  
"My deepest hope is that when Zaibach brings this world into its next phase of existence, Van will not be lost in the process. If that means standing by my side in Zaibach, yes. Though I doubt even that would eliminate the disagreement between him and Dilandau."   
  
"So you want to force them to work together instead of against each other," she said, mulling the Strategos' plan aloud. "Their hatred for each other should cancel out."  
  
"That's the idea, yes."  
  
"Do you think it will work?" She fingered her pendant as if for reassurance that what they had just done was right. Folken's dark eyes flickered down to observe this action, then back up to the strange girl's eyes.  
  
"Why don't you tell me?" he said, raising an eyebrow. The girl blushed slightly.  
  
"I..." she trailed off, "...I think it will. They'll learn to get along, eventually, they have to. It's strange, but I think they'll bring each other peace, to some degree at least. And maybe if that happens, everything else will fall into place. Everything will be okay." She stared at the ground, still holding her necklace.  
  
"Except for you, right?" The Strategos tilted his head, smiling slightly at the surprise that registered on Hitomi's face. "You have your magic. I have my machines. They both see the same fate." He turned and disappeared into the shadows, black cloak swishing softly in the night air.  
  
Hitomi watched him leave, then pulled the necklace over her head and placed it tenderly around Van's neck. Wiping her eyes, she followed after Allen and the girls, leaving Van and Dilandau alone in the clearing as it warmed to sunrise.   
  
- TO BE CONTINUED - 


	2. The Ties That Bind

Welcome back!  
  
What's the deal with Hitomi? Is it PMS? Why is Folken being so cooperative all of a sudden? And what dastardly deed have they done to Van and Dilandau? *gasp* Read on to find out, and review this puppy while you're at it!  
  
Vision of Escaflowne is not mine, no matter how much I wish otherwise. The original portion of this story is MINE, however, so please ask before carting it off somewhere.  
  
  
  
=== "Red Threads" by Morgan Steelgrave - Chapter One ===  
  
  
  
Van awoke to a screaming headache. He groaned, shutting his eyes against the glaring sunlight that assaulted them. His eyes were not focusing all that well after the blow he had received to the head. After a moment, he was awake enough to assess his situation, though he still squeezed his eyes tight to keep out the painful sunlight. He could remember the fight with Dilandau, and Escaflowne malfunctioning. Beyond that everything was still locked somewhere behind the pounding in his skull.  
  
Wincing, the young Fanelian moved to sit up. Everything hurt, mostly due to being shaken like a maraca while inside his guymelef. His shoulders ached from the rigging, and Van lifted his hands to try to massage some of the knots away. His left hand, however, held some sort of extra weight. Opening his eyes gingerly, his fuzzy gaze met with a red ribbon tied around his wrist. He let out a grunt of confused exasperation, tugging at the ribbon. It refused to untie. Van decided to bear the onslaught of light and look to see what he was tied to.  
  
He immediately wished he hadn't. "Shit!" he exclaimed under his breath, trying to back away from the person to whom he was attached.  
  
He was tied to none other than Dilandau Albatou.  
  
Though he managed to move away from the Zaibach soldier, Van's movements pulled on the ribbon, which pulled on Dilandau's right hand. He growled as he slowly stumbled back into consciousness, grimacing at a headache that rivaled Van's.  
  
"What the hell...?" he muttered, his brilliant red eyes fluttering open. They were out of focus, he noted dryly, probably because of whatever had hit him on the head. Someone was sitting within arm's distance, frozen, breathing heavily. Judging by the tugging at his arm, he was probably being held prisoner by the person, tied to him so he could not escape. Closing his eyes again, Dilandau forced his mind to clear.  
  
Van remained unmoving, poised in the same uncomfortable position he had been in when Dilandau first looked like he was coming out of it. For the moment, however, it appeared the Dragonslayer had slipped back into sleep. Van let out a relieved sigh and relaxed a little bit.  
  
It was at that moment that Dilandau's eyes snapped open. Van had scarcely had time to continue his retreat when Dilandau pounced and landed on top of his captor, thin hands around his throat. It was several beats, however, until everything registered for the Dragonslayer. He had no idea where he was, his armor had vanished, his sword was gone, and he had a death grip around Van Fanel's throat.  
  
"Van?!" he shrieked, his instinct to kill overridden by his absolute shock at finding himself in such a position. The two of them tried to scramble to their feet and take up a defensive position, but they merely succeeded in getting tangled up and falling heavily on their backsides. Bruised and even more disoriented than ever, the two young men regarded each other with identical suspicious, panicky looks.  
  
"What's going on? Where are we?" Dilandau demanded, his hand going instinctively to the scar along his jaw, ruby eyes narrowed dangerously. It proved more awkward than usual, because his right hand was tied to the person who had given him the stigma in the first place. "Have you taken me prisoner? Shit, if you think I'm going to--"  
  
"No! No, I don't know!" Van interrupted him, insisting vehemently trying to calm the homicidal glint in the soldier's eyes. Everything hurt too much at the moment to start fighting again. "I woke up here, tied to you. I don't know what happened."  
  
"Damn it...DAMN IT!!!" The Dragonslayer shrieked, pounding his fists against the ground. In the process, the ribbon tugged on Van's already sore shoulder until he grabbed the bond tightly with both hands, trying to still Dilandau's angered thrashing. He continued flailing at the earth, infuriated that he should be forced to be so vulnerable in front of the creature that had defiled his perfection, his invincibility, his pride. And now that snooty backwoods degenerate was touching him. He was holding onto his *arm*. With an enraged grunt of disgust, Dilandau shoved Van away from him, yanking his arm out of the Fanelian's hand. "Don't touch me," he hissed, narrowing his eyes.  
  
"You weren't doing us any good like that," Van said, amazingly patient. "We're in this together, whether we like it or not." Dilandau relaxed minutely, grudgingly acknowledging Van's logic.   
  
"Fine."  
  
Van sighed. "So, let's figure out what's going on. *Then* we can finish what we started." Dilandau seemed to agree with this, offering what little information he knew.  
  
"The last thing I remember is that my guymelef malfunctioned."  
  
"Something hit you from behind. I think it was Folken," Van explained.  
  
"That stupid idiot, why would he--"  
  
"I don't know! The same thing happened to me when I tried to climb down, though I don't know who it was." Van swiped his dark hair out of his eyes. "I wish I knew what the hell was going on around here."  
  
"Someone's going to pay for this. Slowly," Dilandau hissed. Van was suddenly very glad he was not responsible for their predicament. He looked over to find his unwilling companion glaring at him again. "Why haven't you untied the damn thing yet?"  
  
"I tried, but it doesn't have a knot. It's just one continuous loop wrapped around our hands," the Fanelian held up his hand. "See?"  
  
"So cut it."  
  
"They took our swords," Van argued. Dilandau held up a finger that indicated for Van to hold that thought, reached behind his back and pulled a long dagger from some unknown hiding place. Upon seeing the quizzical look on Van's face, he shrugged with a wicked grin. "Always carry a spare." He set about trying to saw through the ribbon.  
  
"I still don't understand. Why would anyone, especially Folken, intervene in our battle and do...well, this?" Van scowled, still trying to make sense of it all. A loud string of expletives exploded from his left. "What is it?"  
  
"The damn thing keeps morphing around my dagger!" Dilandau seethed. He demonstrated the problem by attempting to saw through the ribbon once again, but the thin rope merely flowed around the blade like a drop of quicksilver, reforming in its former shape time after time. "That's no ribbon, it's made out of crima claw metal. That's the only thing that could foil a titanium blade like this."  
  
"Crima claw metal?"  
  
"Folken again," Dilandau tucked the useless knife away again. "This must be his idea of a joke. I never would have guessed he had such a sick sense of humor."  
  
"You're one to talk," Van grumbled, rubbing the stubborn ribbon absently. "So how do we cut it?" It was hard to believe that something so delicate-looking could be so strong.  
  
"We don't. We'd need to get one of the Zaibach welders to sever it."  
  
"You mean we have to go all the way to a Zaibach base to get out of this?" Van demanded incredulously. "But we don't even know where we are, let alone how to get there from here!"  
  
The Dragonslayer growled. "Believe me, I don't like the idea of traveling all the way there with you, either."  
  
The two men sat in silence for a moment, turning their predicament over in their minds. Neither could come up with a more feasible solution than finding their way to a Zaibach base.  
  
Dilandau stood up, yanking on the ribbon as he did so. "Come on, we might as well start now. No use sitting here like two useless old ladies."  
  
Van remained seated. "Maybe we should stay here until someone finds us," he suggested. "I know someone will come looking for me. If we move around in these woods, we could wander right past them and never see them."  
  
"I refuse to just sit here and suffer this...this...this humiliation!" Dilandau cried. "We have to do something, so come on. Quit stalling and get up."  
  
"And what happens when I walk into a Zaibach base, huh?" Van demanded. "They'll probably cut this thing and whisk me off to one of those damn cells again. There's no way I'm going." He crossed his arms defiantly, as best he could while tethered to his mortal enemy, daring Dilandau to argue with him.  
  
"No, they won't, because as soon as I'm free of you I'm going to kill you," the pale Zaibach soldier quivered with anger. "Now get up!" He yanked on the ribbon so hard that he pulled Van to his feet, though the young Fanelian had no time to compensate and lost his balance. He landed on top of the Dragonslayer, who shoved him aside angrily. The two combatants struggled to their feet, and Van threw a wild punch at Dilandau's face. The Dragonslayer caught his fist before it made contact, wrenching it to the side. Van was surprised to find his right arm successfully pinned, so he brought his left hand, still tied to Dilandau's right, up hard against the underside of his jaw.  
  
Dilandau's teeth clashed audibly, and he swayed momentarily, shaking his head. He put his hand up to his mouth and felt a trickle of blood. Glaring at Van, he moved suddenly and swiftly to ram him in the gut. Van fell backward, the wind completely knocked out of him. Before he landed, he grabbed onto the ribbon and pulled as hard as he could manage, taking Dilandau down with him. The pale boy fell with a curse, landing on top of Van. There was a long pause, neither young man having the breath to bother to move.  
  
"I hate you," Dilandau grumbled, still not moving.  
  
"Sorry," Van muttered hotly. Dilandau started to roll off of Van's narrow chest, but the ties on his shirt caught on something.  
  
"What's this?" he asked gruffly, detaching a small gold pendant from his shirt. Van's eyes widened, and he snatched the necklace from Dilandau's hand.  
  
"What? Don't touch that!" he ordered. Dilandau raised a quizzical silver eyebrow and grabbed Hitomi's pendant back roughly.  
  
"It doesn't look like much," he mused aloud, holding it up between their faces. His focus shifted from the necklace to Van's scowl. The Dragonslayer grinned wickedly, jeering. "Was it a present, Van?" He swung it back and forth, just out of Van's grasp, watching the irritated consternation on his enemy's face. Finally Van shifted his weight and rolled over, pinning Dilandau beneath him. He grabbed the pendant back and clutched it close. Dilandau snorted, losing interest, and flopped down beside the Fanelian. The two lay sprawled in the grass, staring up through the trees and generally trying to ignore one another.  
  
"That was the first time anyone's ever apologized to me. And meant it, anyway," Dilandau said after a moment, though he did not look over at Van.  
  
"How do you know I meant it?"  
  
"We can't stand each other under normal circumstances, let alone tied together like this," Dilandau explained shortly. "It's understandable that you'd be sorry we have to endure each other's company. I know I am."  
  
Van lolled his head to look at the other boy. "That's not true. I've heard your Dragonslayers apologize to you before," Van replied. He didn't care if he provoked him anymore. Things couldn't be any worse than they were. Amazingly, though, the pale boy did not get angry. He laughed bitterly.  
  
"They're trained to apologize to me. Nothing they do is ever good enough. They can't make a decision without me, you've seen that. They're just being selfish, trying to suck up, that's all. They don't mean it."  
  
"How do you know they don't mean it?" Van asked. "Maybe it's you who's being selfish."  
  
Dilandau laughed, a harsh, low chuckle. "Yeah, so? I have to be." Van stared at him, unsure of the boy's meaning and amazed that he could be so blunt. "I'm sure you're selfish, too."  
  
"I am not."  
  
"You're royalty. You've been brought up to be selfish. Besides, you nearly sacrificed an entire city to settle a personal vendetta. Of course you're selfish."  
  
"I am n--" Van started to argue, but stopped mid-sentence. Dilandau was right, and the young king of Fanelia knew it. He *was* selfish. He let out an exasperated growl and ran a hand through his dark hair, tugging at it in his frustration. Of all people, why did it have to be Dilandau to point that out?   
  
He tried, he honestly tried, to be the selfless hero like Allen, though even Allen had his moral flaws. But no matter what Van did, he never gave anything his best effort unless he was angry enough not to care. Like when he was fighting Dilandau. He stopped thinking about what he was doing, what Balgus or Allen had told him to do, or if he was letting them down. He just got caught up in the moment and let things happen without trying.   
  
"Funny," Dilandau mused aloud, breaking through Van's introspective jaunt, "you were the first person to cross me and live this long. And you were the first to apologize for it."  
  
"Aren't I just the center of your universe?" Van snorted. He tried crossing his arms over his chest, but realized only one arm would reach that far and gave up on the idea. He was still miffed that it took an abomination like the leader of the Dragonslayers to uncover his personality flaws.  
  
Dilandau sat up and leaned back against a tree, casually tucking his free arm behind his head and closing his eyes. "It's still not good enough, you know," he said with a smirk. "I'm still going to kill you after we get out of this mess."  
  
"There's no pleasing you, is there?" Van squinted in dry disbelief. Dilandau chuckled.  
  
"Never."  
  
"Then why don't you just kill me now?" Van leaned back against the tree next to Dilandau, as far away from his sworn enemy as the accursed tether would allow. "I'd rather you do that than have to suffer your enormous ego for Gaia knows how long."  
  
"No, then I'd have to drag you through the woods all by myself." Dilandau opened one crimson eye and grinned even wider. "Besides, I want you to suffer before you die."  
  
Van sighed, a vague grimace of disdain finding its way across his features. "You're absolutely evil. You know that, right?"  
  
Surprisingly, Dilandau's smile faded slightly. He opened his eyes and stared at the grass in the clearing from beneath his fringe of silver hair. "I am what you make of me," he brooded, his voice something far from the demonic taunt Van had always heard him use.   
  
The king wondered briefly what meaning that statement held. Whatever it was, it gnawed at the Dragonslayer, though he appeared to have resigned himself to its presence. Dilandau broke out of his reverie, however, and said mischievously, "You never answered my question."  
  
Van sighed irritably. "What question?"  
  
"That." Dilandau flicked the pendant hanging around Van's neck. "What is it to you?"  
  
"It belongs to a friend. I don't know how it got here, I didn't have it before *this* happened," the young king tugged lightly at the red ribbon to indicate the current situation. "I suppose that means she was in on it, too."  
  
"She?"  
  
"Hitomi. The girl who helped rescue me from the _Vione_." Van saw the recognition in Dilandau's ruby eyes.  
  
"That bitch from the Mystic Moon," he snorted. "The one Schezar claimed was his new lover. As if I would ever fall for that." He regarded the necklace for a moment, then let his eyes slide slyly up to Van's face. "How did she know I was going to attack you?"  
  
"I don't know. She just knows things like that. She's saved my life more times than I care to think about."  
  
Dilandau seemed to consider it seriously for a moment, then announced, "I hate her, too."  
  
Van was about to ask why, but decided the better of trying to climb inside a half-crazed Zaibach soldier's head and mucking around. Instead he shrugged and fingered the pendant thoughtfully, trying to put the events of the past day into some semblance of order. There was no counting the aches and pains he felt, nor was there any way of knowing how the mess would end.  
  
For that matter, did he know why it began? Why did such black hatred exist between the young king and the perfect soldier? It ate at them both, Van knew. It had been years since he had a thrill like the one he got while fighting Dilandau. No training with Balgus was that important, not even his battle with the dragon to claim his throne. Any rush of victory he had felt at that moment was cheapened, swallowed by the ever-present thought that it should have been his brother, not him, to take Escaflowne.  
  
But this...it heated his blood, flushed his face, hastened his breath. His eyes glossed until there was nothing there but the boy with the silver hair and the cold, magenta eyes. It fascinated and eluded him at the same time, this excitement. He loosed a sigh, lost in thought.  
  
Dilandau glanced testily over at his unwanted companion. What was he doing now? Mooning over that stupid piece of jewelry? Sentimental idiot. He hated that crap. What point did it have, thinking about some silly girl who was just in the way? She had even betrayed him, left him with his sworn enemy, and he was *still* thinking about her. Dilandau ground his teeth, seething.   
  
"Why do we do this?" Van still held the pendant, but was now watching Dilandau carefully. The Dragonslayer shrugged.  
  
"I enjoy it, personally." He curled his lip in a savage smile. Van shivered involuntarily. He glanced over at Dilandau, his eyes tracing the path of the scar along his jaw line. Van wondered how far he should push, before the anger flared again between them.   
  
"Because of the war? Or because of something else?" The thin, sinewy muscles along Dilandau's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. "I suppose I made you my enemy."  
  
"We were enemies before we ever met," Dilandau stated simply. Then he frowned, "You just made it personal. That's all."  
  
"Me?! *I* made it personal?!" Van whirled on the Zaibach soldier, dark eyes blazing. "I don't believe this! You attacked me!"  
  
"It was an order. I might be the leader of the Dragonslayers, but it boils down to being a grunt with a fancy title. I still have to take orders." In a strange upturn of the norm, Dilandau responded calmly while Van raged.  
  
"You burned down my entire kingdom, you threatened my friends, you dragged me off and dumped me in some cell, and you laughed while you were doing it, you psychopath! *You* attacked *me* from behind! What did you expect me to do, roll over and let you slice me in half?!" Van stopped, panting by that point, teeth bared in a grimace of utter fury. Dilandau watched him with an expression of savage amusement.  
  
"And you cut my face."  
  
"Your *face*?! How can you possibly compare my scratching your damned face to your single-handedly destroying almost my entire life?"  
  
"This *is* my entire life!" Dilandau spat, pointing jaggedly at his own face. "What you see right here. Me. This is all I've got. All I know is that I can't respect anyone but myself, I can't rely on anyone but myself, and I can't trust anyone but myself. Because no one would respect me or trust me until I was perfect. Until I was the best." He leaned forward until he was inches from Van's face, hissing vehemently, "I *am* the best, don't you ever forget that. And I *was* perfect, until you came along and fucked that up."  
  
"It was a sword fight!" Van roared, shoving the pale boy out of his face. "People get cut in sword fights! Grow up and deal with it!"  
  
"And shit happens in battles, too! Kingdoms burn! People die! It's my *job* to make sure that happens. And here's something you might find interesting... It's yours, too. So get used to it, Van, because you're going to have to kill people, just like I do. And you might even like it." Dilandau grinned, a wolfish feint of a smile, letting his words hit Van fully.  
  
Instinctively, the king of Fanelia let out an animal growl of rage and pounced on the Dragonslayer, throttling him as best he could with one hand impaired. Dilandau kicked upward and flipped Van off of his chest. Van landed hard on his already aching shoulder, rolling over only to find Dilandau poised above him, ready to strike. The pale boy threw all his weight into the punch, connecting high on Van's cheekbone. Van cried out, rubbing the spot where a dark bruise was blossoming almost immediately. He clenched his fist and struck out hard at Dilandau. The blow caught Dilandau in the jaw, on the same side of his face as the long scar. The shock in his wide crimson eyes temporarily stunned them both.  
  
Dilandau tried to bring a shaking hand to his face, but it was tied to Van's. He stared at the red ribbon numbly for a moment, wincing at the growing throbbing in his cheek. Suddenly he grabbed the thread, tugging at it wildly.  
  
"Why do you have to do that?!" he cried, jerking the ribbon as hard as he possibly could, a crazed shine in his eyes. "It's bad enough you did this to me. But you have to keep hitting it, rubbing it in, reminding me. I won't be tied to you! I WON'T!!!" He resorted to savagely gnawing at the string, tearing at it with teeth and hands, heedless of the cuts appearing on his palms.  
  
"Stop it! You'll hurt yourself!" Van tried to calm his companion, but it was nearly impossible. Grasping him by the shoulders, he shook him in an attempt to get through to him. "I'm sorry! I shouldn't have hit you there! Now calm down! Do you hear me, Dilandau? I said *calm down*!!" The pale soldier stopped, exhausted by his efforts. The two young men sat there, wreathed together, panting for several minutes. Dilandau stared at the ground, not bothering to wipe at the trickle of blood that had formed again at the corner of his mouth.  
  
"Let go of me," he said quietly. It was a tired quiet, but it was still dangerous. When Van did not release him, Dilandau brought his eyes up to meet his. "Van. I'll kill you," he stated simply, almost as if it were a plea for Van to release him because the Zaibach soldier no longer had the energy to kill him if he didn't. Van slowly released his hold on Dilandau's shoulders, and the two of them sagged back away from each other, equally weary.  
  
"I don't like you, either," Van sighed dryly. He watched Dilandau warily, on guard for another attack. It was silent for a long while, until their breathing returned to a relative norm. It was Dilandau who broke the silence.  
  
"Can we just go now?" he said in a haggard monotone. Van, still nursing his bruised face and shoulder, nodded.  
  
"Yeah. Let's go." Neither of them made a move to get up, however. Both men were spent, their words used up, their bodies aching for a reprieve. It was too much. "After we've rested," Van added with a sigh. He pressed his fingers to the ridges of his eyebrows, trying to relieve some of the agony that was dancing sadistically around in his skull.  
  
"After we've rested," agreed Dilandau hollowly. The two leaned their heads back to gaze dumbly at the slices of late afternoon sun filtering through the trees around them, united in their battle's defeat.  
  
- TO BE CONTINUED - 


	3. Conversations at Midnight

This chapter's a bit shorter...but don't worry, it's just full of...well, Dilandau and Van. ^_~ And big scary things, which I would mention in detail, but then what fun would that be?  
  
Escaflowne's not mine. This story is. Duh.  
  
  
  
=== "Red Threads" by Morgan Steelgrave - Chapter Two ===  
  
  
  
Hitomi and Merle sat with their faces pressed against the window. It had begun to rain, a penetrating shower that left on the ground puddled mirrors of the destruction that was Asturia. The storm had soothed the fires into charred heaps and the odd blackened facade that still stood, stubborn against even the utter chaos of an all-out guymelef duel.   
  
It had been two days.   
  
Merle sighed heavily, her face drooping even more as it rested dejectedly on her hands. She hated to think of poor Van-sama out there in such awful weather, especially if he was stuck with that crazed maniac from Zaibach. Next to her Hitomi echoed her sigh, and the cat-girl scowled slightly.  
  
"Are you still worried about him?" Millerna asked gently from the hearth behind them. Merle turned to her, her childish concern plain in her large blue eyes.  
  
"Yeah," she said sadly, turning back to the window. "I wish he would come home. I miss him."  
  
Millerna placed a comforting hand on Merle's head, smoothing her bobbed hair. "It shouldn't be too much longer. You just have to keep watching for him. Right, Hitomi?" She looked over at the other girl, who seemed to be mesmerized by the little rivulets of water slipping down the window panes. "Hitomi?"  
  
The girl jumped. "What? I'm sorry, did you say something?" She blushed sheepishly. Merle growled, but Millerna returned her embarrassed grin with a sweet smile of her own.  
  
"I was just telling Merle that Van should be home before much longer."  
  
"Oh," Hitomi trailed off, smiling faintly. "Yes, I suppose he should be back before long. If everything goes well, that is."  
  
"Everything *will* go well. Won't it?" Merle asked, tugging on the older girl's sleeve. Hitomi involuntarily reached for her pendant, but her hand grasped only her shirt. She had forgotten that she gave it to Van. She had not imagined how naked and vulnerable she would feel without it.  
  
"As far as I can tell," she nodded slowly. Merle raised an eyebrow.  
  
"As far as you can tell?" she asked incredulously. "What, no blood and guts? That's not like you."  
  
"Are you sure, Hitomi?" Millerna asked, the note of urgency in her voice well-disguised beneath her sweetness. It was there, all the same. Hitomi blushed even deeper under the scrutiny of her friends.  
  
"Y-yes," she stammered.  
  
"What are you not telling us?" The cat-girl grabbed her collar with extended claws, her tiny pointed teeth bared in her best effort at a threatening grimace. Hitomi shrugged out of her grasp, disheveled and perturbed.  
  
"I told you already, nothing bad is going to happen to Van while he is in the forest with Dilandau," she replied hotly, brushing herself off. "Now would you please leave me alone?"  
  
Merle simply hmphed and slid out the door without deigning to glance back. Millerna sat down next to the irritated girl and said softly, "I'm sorry, Hitomi. We didn't mean to second-guess you. It's just that it's a huge risk, sending the king of Fanelia out into the woods alone with someone like Dilandau Albatou. You understand our concerns, right? We *need* Van on our side. Just like I know you need him."  
  
Hitomi's eyes widened, and she shook her head to deny the princess's remark. Millerna cut her off.  
  
"You both got dragged into this together," she smiled. "You've saved his life so many times I've lost count. We need him around to return the favor." She rose, her frilly dressing gown making soft hushing noises against the floor. "If you say Van will come back, I believe you, Hitomi. I know everything will be okay in the end. Goodnight."  
  
Hitomi watched the princess leave, shutting the door carefully behind her. She pressed her hot forehead against the chilly glass, letting the world outside go out of focus as she gazed through the sheets of water sliding confidently downward.   
  
* * *  
  
Van and Dilandau, however, did not have the luxury of leisurely witnessing the rain through a window. They plowed through the woods, dodging trees they could barely see through the downpour, catching roots and brambles with their increasingly sluggish feet. When a tree came into view between them, they each tried to go a different direction around it; when they passed through an area of thick undergrowth, they ran heedlessly into the bracken, getting tangled in the thorny bushes. They argued over which direction to take, which way they would step around the huge mud puddles, and when they would rest, pulling on the red ribbon until their wrists were chafed and their shoulder sockets groaned from the strain. At last the rain became so heavy that they could barely see each other, let alone any given distance in front of them. One of them slipped, neither really cared who, and both young men fell to the wet earth, exhausted and drenched.  
  
"Get off me," Van ordered, struggling to get up from the muck. Dilandau shivered.  
  
"I w-would if I c-c-could," he retaliated through chattering teeth. Stupid fucking teeth, he cursed inwardly. He would rather die than let on that he was about to freeze. But his speech had to betray him to the other. Van tugged his companion to his feet, shoving him forward.  
  
"Come on. I can make out a bridge ahead. We'll get under that and wait for the rain to stop." He slid down the side of the ditch, pulling Dilandau along behind him. The creek below was brimming, but the ravine was deep enough that there was plenty of room beneath the bridge higher on the walls.  
  
Grateful for the brief respite, Van leaned heavily against one of the thick wooden pillars, panting and shaking water from his dark hair like a dog. He glanced over at Dilandau, who had not moved since he hit the ground. The pale Dragonslayer had not bothered to swipe the wet silver hair from his eyes or wring some of the damp from his violet shirt. He sat shivering, staring furiously at the ground, trying his hardest to ignore the other party.  
  
"You should try to dry off as much as you can," Van prompted casually, not wanting to provoke his ire. Dilandau did not move, but his scarlet eyes rolled in Van's direction.  
  
"I hate cold." Van blinked.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said I hate cold," Dilandau muttered, hugging himself with thin, sinewy arms. Van noted that the Zaibach soldier was even paler than usual, though prideful fires were still banked in his eyes.  
  
"You think I *like* feeling like a wet dog?" Van snorted. His jibe fell on deaf ears. Dilandau was still ignoring him. "Look, if you dry off you'll feel a little warmer." Dilandau glanced at him sullenly, but lifted his hands to begin untying the laces at the front of his shirt.  
  
"Dilandau, I think--"  
  
"I don't need your help," he muttered, despite the fact that his chilled fingers refused to work properly. Once he finally won the struggle to get the violet shirt untied, it dawned on him that he could not remove it with one arm attached to Van. He stared at it dumbly for a moment, his free hand still entwined in the laces.   
  
"Damn it, Dilandau, don't be stupid. Here." Patiently moving his fingers aside, Van leaned over and simply ripped the shirt at the shoulder seam, pulling it off and twisting it in his hands to wring the water from it. He smoothed it back, dryer now, and laid it on the ground next to Dilandau. The pale boy stared at it as if he was unsure of its allegiances, as if it had betrayed him like his teeth and fingers had.  
  
"Why did you do that?" he asked quietly, his brow furrowed in some unidentified consternation.  
  
"Because you're cold and too stubborn to do anything about it. You can sew it back later," Van replied dryly, removing his own shirt and repeating the process. "And you would have complained about it."  
  
"I do not *complain*."  
  
Van raised an eyebrow. "I was making a joke. No, you never complain. You'd rather gnaw through your own arm than allow anyone to help you." Both boys' eyes roved to the red ribbon. "Maybe that wasn't the best way to phrase that."  
  
"And what has you in such a generous mood all of a sudden?" Dilandau asked acidly, his eyes piercing Van's forced casualness from behind the brief curtain of dripping platinum hair. The Fanelian king shrugged.  
  
"We're in this together," he said. "We should watch out for each other, just so we can see this thing out."  
  
"Hmph," the Dragonslayer replied ambiguously. "As long as I get to kill you when this is done with." Van smiled.  
  
"That's more like it," he laughed. Dilandau smirked, a flicker of his usual zeal returning to his expression. That same obstinate piece of hair hung before his eyes, and it finally irritated Van enough to do something about it. Exasperatedly, he reached out and brushed it to the side, flinging crystalline drops of water into the air as he did so. Dilandau caught his arm as he withdrew, surprising the dark young man.  
  
"Swear," he said, his face serious once more, but perhaps the most lucid Van had seen it. "If we die, it's by the other. You won't let anyone else have the honor of taking your life before I do. Swear it." His long, tapered fingers curled tighter around Van's wrist, remarkably strong for such a fine-boned hand. Van felt his eyes being held captive, too, by that unwavering garnet gaze. He turned his left hand in the ribbon and gripped Dilandau's other forearm, returning the gesture.  
  
"I swear it," he said, "and you'll do the same. I'll have your life and no one else, Dragonslayer."  
  
Dilandau smiled, releasing Van's arm. "Your life is mine, Dragon. Before I kill you, though, I'd like to bring this matter up with Folken. He has some explaining to do."  
  
"Hitomi, too," Van added, pursing his lips in thought. "We'll get even, and *then* we'll settle everything else."  
  
"Fair enough."  
  
"I didn't think you played fair," Van grinned.   
  
"I don't," Dilandau smiled back, white teeth glinting sharply in the shadow of the bridge, which was getting darker by the minute as night slowly wrapped its wings around the woods.  
  
"As long as we both know what we're getting into," the king of Fanelia managed around yawn. "Do you think we could continue this teamwork thing while we catch a little sleep?"  
  
"You go ahead," Dilandau nodded, "I'll take first watch." Not that there was a lot either of them could do should something go wrong, but their situation made them both considerably more vulnerable than they were used to. Every little bit would help. These thoughts ran through Van's mind as he regarded his companion warily in the dark.  
  
"Are you sure?" he asked incredulously. "You won't try anything, will you?" Dilandau rolled his eyes impatiently.  
  
"I gave you my word, didn't I?"  
  
"Yes, but is it any good?"  
  
"Just go to sleep, you idiot. I'll wake you in a couple hours," the Dragonslayer replied, his annoyance beginning to wear through in his voice. He nudged his now-ruined shirt in Van's direction, indicating with a grunt that he should take it. Still staring at Dilandau suspiciously, Van took it and folded it, placing it under his head as he stretched out as best he could. The albino boy sighed and added a little more tolerantly, "I have some things I need to think about. It's not problem."  
  
Van nodded vaguely after a moment, then shut his eyes. They felt like they were made out of lead, he was so tired. The day had been long and arduous, both physically and emotionally. As he felt around on his chest for the pendant, swiftly slipping off to sleep, it occurred to the young king that he had some things he needed to think about, too.  
  
* * *  
  
He was awakened shortly by a sharp tug on the ribbon, then another. Forcing his eyes open, Van struggled into a sitting position, rubbing his face to wake himself up.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked groggily. Dilandau was sitting forward slightly, and when Van spoke aloud the Dragonslayer silenced him by raising a hand.  
  
"I thought I heard something," he whispered. Both boys sat in anxious silence for a long while, but there was no further noise. Van poked Dilandau in the shoulder irritably.  
  
"Did you really need my help on that one?" he demanded, settling down to go back to sleep. Dilandau looked back at him, ruby eyes glowing eerily in the dark. Though he could not see his expression, Van could just imagine the look of annoyance on the other boy's face.  
  
"I heard *something*, I tell you. I didn't just wake you up to spite you, though I rather like the idea at the moment," he hissed. "Besides, it's your turn to take watch."  
  
"Oh, fine. As long as you don't snore." Van sat up, leaving his left hand on the ground at his side to allow some slack in their bonds. Dilandau glared at him, communicating without words that the great Dilandau Albatou did *not* do something as mundane as snore, then curled up in a position Van would have thought only comfortable for a feline and closed his eyes. It was not two minutes before there was a long, rattling hiss of breath.  
  
"Oh, for crying out loud," Van said, poking the Dragonslayer. Dilandau did not move.  
  
"That wasn't me," he said cautiously. Van snorted.  
  
"Right," he agreed sarcastically, "I never pictured you snoring."  
  
"No, I'm serious," Dilandau sat up slowly, crimson eyes flickering back and forth, searching their surroundings. "It wasn't me." The two boys sat perfectly still, strained to hear the noise again.  
  
"If it wasn't you, then what--?" Van whispered, but the noise came again, the same oiled, rasping exhalation. Van's eyes widened in the dark and he yanked Dilandau into a standing position. They backed against the tree, Dilandau complying with Van's unspoken orders despite his confusion. The Fanelian seemed on point, striving with every sense to discover the location of the noise.  
  
"What is it?" the Dragonslayer whispered, his lips so close to Van's ear he could feel his breath stir the hairs at the nape of his neck. The proximity did not phase the young king, however, and he held up a hand, motioning for the pale boy to be quiet.  
  
"There. Ahead and to the right." Van tensed, though Dilandau could still see nothing. He was about to question his companion more insistently when he heard the trees rustle in the direction Van had noted. No, they did more than rustle, he corrected himself. They were falling on each other like matchsticks, parting the way for *something* to come through. Dilandau held his breath, waiting for the unknown enemy to appear. He did not have to wait long.  
  
The land dragon rose from the damp woods with a steely hiss of armored scales gliding along each other like an oiled death machine. Its yellow eyes glowed, slitted pupils contracting and dilating, sensing its prey with methodical precision.  
  
"Don't move."  
  
- TO BE CONTINUED - 


	4. Away

Uh-oh... Van + Dilandau + Dragon = Trouble. Wow, I wish my calculus was that easy. Hmmm...perhaps I should unleash Dilandau on my book. I might enjoy watching it burn even more than he would. ^_^ This chapter is a LOT shorter than usual, but that's just how it felt like it should flow. Anyway, thanks for the feedback, folks, keep it coming. Feedback catches stupid errors I'd never noticed before... like how the hell Dilandau would get his shirt off if he was tied to Van (I went back and fixed that little goof, by the way, so thanks!)  
  
I think we all know by now what's mine and what isn't.  
  
  
  
=== "Red Threads" by Morgan Steelgrave - Chapter Three ===  
  
  
  
"Don't move," Van hissed to Dilandau, drawing him as close as possible, dark eyes glittering in the dark, breathing heightened but even.  
  
"Can it sense us if we don't move?" he breathed, his words barely audible even to his own ears. Van's eyes slid in his direction.  
  
"No," he answered, his attention returning to the dragon, which was circling them slowly, unsure of their exact location. The two young men stood frozen, allowing the gigantic beast's glowing eyes to pass over them as if they were a part of the forest. When it raised its head and appeared to lose interest in their immediate vicinity, they could not help but relax minutely. Its nostrils flared once, twin puffs of smoke curling upward. A single claw twitched impatiently on the ground.  
  
Van suddenly went rigid, eyes widening. "Move! Now!" He grabbed Dilandau's hand, and the two sprang high into the air just as the massive tail, ropes of taughtly-coiled sinew and armor, swept toward them. It landed with an explosion of dirt and brush debris, searching them out, lashing the entire clearing as it groped for its targets. The boys executed a series of jumps as they avoided the tail, working as one mind and body, moving together without a second's hesitation or doubt.  
  
The dragon turned, tail whistling through the night air, and reared its head back in preparation to let loose with its fire. Legs already aching from dodging the lashings of the tail, Van and Dilandau paused momentarily to catch their breath. The Fanelian saw the waves of heat radiating from the beast's jaws and chest plates and cursed.  
  
"Run!" he cried, grabbing Dilandau's arm once again. They turned and ran hard, the roar of the fire as it struck the ground as they pumped their legs in desperation. The heat was intense, licking at their backs as it rushed to catch them and throw them off their feet. They landed roughly, faces shoved into the moist leaf matter that now smelled of smoke as the forest around them was caught in a growing nest of flames. The dragon approached, impervious to the fire, its head reared to strike again. Van tugged at Dilandau, trying to force him to his feet. The Zaibach soldier seemed entranced with his attacker, refusing to budge an inch.  
  
"Dilandau! We have to get out of here!" Van shouted, pulling at the ribbon that bound them.  
  
Dilandau turned to face him, the fires reflecting in his eyes, making them seem to shimmer, liquid. This creature was so beautiful and so threatening at once, full of fire and pride and cunning. He had to see it. He wanted to see the fire as it poured out between iron teeth, descending to the earth like a tide of death, like the destruction he wielded as a Dragonslayer. "I want to stay!" he cried, turning back to face the advancing dragon.   
  
"There's nothing we can do! We haven't got any weapons and we're crippled as long as we're tied like this! Now come on!" Dilandau still would not move. The dragon inhaled, the furnace within its bony chest plates glowing. Dilandau's eyes widened in exhilarated expectance, the hot breath of the dragon and the fires swirling around the two of them and tugging seductively at his silver hair.  
  
The dragon opened its cavernous jaws to unleash its searing death, and after a split-second's hesitation Van set his jaw grimly and grabbed Dilandau from behind, pinioning his arms, jumping upward as hard as he could. He felt the bones in his back creak aside as his wings unfurled, catching the hot wind of the dragon's breath and the burning forest and carrying them upward into the night sky.   
  
- TO BE CONTINUED - 


	5. To Trust and To Remember

My goodness, I left our boys kind of high and dry, didn't I? Don't   
worry, it won't be the last time. ^_^ As for whether or not this will   
be a Van/Dilandau fic, Miraba...I'll put in all the hints I can   
possibly muster, but I'm not going for an out and out romance between   
them...at the moment. Though I do find the idea delicious, trust   
me, I have my reasons for holding off on pairing them up. ^_~  
  
I think we all know by now what's mine and what isn't.  
  
  
  
  
=== "Red Threads" by Morgan Steelgrave - Chapter Four ===  
  
  
  
Far below their feet, the dragon roared in fury at its vanished prey.  
  
He felt Dilandau gasp, whether at seeing his life almost slip away or at the feeling of being suspended in air, the young Fanelian could not be sure. His passenger tensed, watching a single white feather float by in front of them, borne on the scorched wind of the growing fire below. When they were far enough away from the updrafts, Van hovered in midair, still holding tight to the Dragonslayer.  
  
"What--what *are* you?" Dilandau asked carefully, taking measured breaths to quell the panicked surprise he had felt initially. Van was unsure how to answer at first. Should he tell the honest facts, or just try to cover it up with some idiotic excuse? He flapped his wings and sighed. Something like *those* could never be explained away with a lie.  
  
"I'm half Draconian," he admitted finally. "My father was human, but my mother was a descendant of Atlantis."  
  
"Half..." Dilandau trailed off, trying to assimilate everything that had happened. It was taking his brain a few moments to recover from the shock of nearly dying, and if that was not enough, there was the fact that his life had just been saved by his sworn enemy, who happened to have wings.  
  
"...Draconian," Van finished for him. He fell silent again, waiting for the pale boy to make the next move. To his surprise, Dilandau began to shake slightly. It took the Fanelian king a minute to realize he was laughing.  
  
"Of all people for me to be stuck with out in the middle of fucking nowhere, I get a demon," he chuckled uncontrollably. Van pulled a wry face.  
  
"Not a 'demon,'" he replied hotly, "Draconian. And only half."  
  
"Oh, no. In a case like this, you either are or you aren't. And you *are*, it would seem." He could not stop laughing at the situation for some reason, and for some equally elusive reason he found he did not care. "This is just great. I don't have to worry about killing you anymore. You're cursed as it is. You'll probably die a death more horrible than anything I could do to you."  
  
"Thanks," Van said bitterly, heading for a nearby cliff.  
  
"But if you're Folken's brother, that means..." Dilandau mused around his giggles. Van rolled his eyes and nodded.  
  
"Yeah, Folken, too."  
  
"Why am I always the last one to know these things? I could have used this little beauty against Folken a long time ago." He chuckled evilly at the prospects this presented. They reached the cliff and Van landed, dumping the Dragonslayer on the ground with an unceremonious thud.  
  
"There's a reason you didn't know," he said, pulling his wings back in. "There were very few who knew my mother was Draconian when I was growing up, and there are only a couple people left who have any idea."  
  
"Oh, I feel special. I know Van's little secret," Dilandau sneered, rubbing his backside at the rough landing. Van met his leer with a cold glare.  
  
"Well, *you're* the one who killed off most of the people who knew. I'm surprised you feel *anything*," he said icily.  
  
"Oh, that's good. Blame me for your paranoia."  
  
"Listen, I don't need you to remind me that my life so far has been one horrible event followed by another." Van hugged his knees to his chest, staring out across the forest, glowing red with the smoldering remains of their encounter with the dragon. Little embers caught the wind and blew by like perverse fireflies. Van's silence brought Dilandau down from his nervous heights, and he stared at his boots stretched out in front of him.   
  
"I know. I'm...sorry," he muttered after a minute.   
  
Van let out a single, harsh laugh. "This is just getting better and better. Everybody I've ever cared about in my life is either stabbing me in the back or dead, and the one person I manage to save is my own worst enemy."   
  
Dilandau silently reached up and caught a cinder with his left hand, smothering its glow in his leather fist. Opening his hand, however, he realized the cinder was a singed white feather. He looked over at his companion, the softened expression in his garnet eyes a foreign one. "Thank you for...for doing what you did. I owe you my life."  
  
"You know the most pathetic part?" Van said, his voice ragged. "I'm not surprised Folken did something like this. He's betrayed me and my family before, why not do it again? But the people I *thought* were my friends," he paused, a wild, self-deprecating look on his face. "Allen, Hitomi, Merle...God, Merle even!...look at what they did! They left me out here tied to the person they *know* I loathe and despise the most of anyone on the planet. Why does everyone betray me like that? Why did they leave me alone?!"  
  
Something tugged painfully inside Dilandau's chest, and he shivered. For some reason, it hurt when Van talked about him as if he were nothing more than an animal, not even fit for human company. Swallowing his own confused feelings, the Dragonslayer said softly, "You're not alone."  
  
"What?" Van blinked in confusion at his companion. Dilandau gazed fixedly at the ground, his expression hidden behind the curtain of silver hair that hung in front of his eyes.  
  
"You're not the only one who's been left alone by everyone else. You talk about how your friends and family have all left you one way or another, but I don't remember ever having a family. Or any friends, for that matter." He chuckled grimly. "The only memories I have of when I was younger involve either being left unbearably alone or being poked and prodded by those damned Madoshi. And believe me, I'd prefer being alone to having anything to do with those freaks."  
  
"What about the other Dragonslayers?" Van asked, avoiding the subject of the Madoshi. He had heard about the Zaibach sorcerers before, and none of the stories were very pleasant. He could imagine what a first-hand account would entail.  
  
"The rest of them are all very close. But they've never really connected with me, mostly because I'm the commanding officer. It's not like they could understand, anyway," the Dragonslayer's shoulders slumped. "They all come from families who are proud to have children in the Zaibach elite. They get letters from home, they give each other gifts on holidays and birthdays...and I don't even know when my birthday is. Loneliness is the worst part of being a Dragonslayer to them. I could never explain the idea that there are things worse than loneliness." Dilandau shivered, memories of vague intrusions and humiliations, violations and abuses flooding his mind.   
  
"You never *let* them get close enough to explain it to them," Van pointed out. Dilandau snorted.  
  
"Of course not. I don't trust them," he answered simply. "Sure, they worship the ground I walk on. They'd do anything for me. They would *die* for me if I ordered them to, but that's the easy way out. There's no glory in just giving up on the fight. They don't get that, though. None of them has the strength to stand up against an order. They would sooner follow an order from Folken and whine to me about how they had no choice because he's a higher authority."  
  
"Would *you* go against an order?" Van asked curiously. Dilandau's expression was one of mild amusement.  
  
"It's been done on occasion," he half-smiled. "It doesn't matter, though. I'll go back and be the wonderful Dilandau-sama again, and I'll smack them around a little just for trying to play Folken and me against each other. And everything will be back to normal, except for this nagging feeling that I'll be a lot less likely to take their word for anything." Dilandau smiled ruefully at Van and shrugged. "So, what will you do when we get out of this mess? Go back to Schezar and that girl from the Mystic Moon?"  
  
"Probably," Van sighed, vaguely disgusted with himself. He picked up a small rock and launched it effortlessly into the thick brush ahead of them, fingering Hitomi's pendant absently with the other hand. "Not that things would go back to being the way they were."  
  
"I doubt they ever will," Dilandau agreed grimly.  
  
Then, after a moment's silent hesitation, Van added, "I never thought I'd say this, but you're the only person I trust anymore." The subtle metallic sheen of the ribbon glinted in the slowly lifting darkness as he held up his left arm. Dilandau considered his end of the tether a moment before fixing Van with a sharp, measuring gaze.  
  
"Do you mean that?" Van nodded once, rubbing his right thumb absently along the metal ribbon on his wrist.  
  
"You gave me your word that we would end this together. I believe you," he replied slowly. "You have honor, Dilandau. You might go overboard every now and then, and your picture should be included in the definition of 'pyromaniac', but it's only because once you give your word that you'll do something, nothing will get in your way. I trust you."  
  
Dilandau held his gaze level for a moment, then allowed his few remaining defenses to dissolve following a compliant sigh. "They say no one knows you as well as your enemy," he murmured, staring off into space. "I guess that's true. I trust you more than I trust myself sometimes."  
  
"Why?" Van tilted his head slightly, leaning to meet Dilandau's eyes even as the Dragonslayer tried to turn away. "Why, Dilandau?"   
  
"Because you were always the enemy. My entire life in Zaibach has been in training to be a Dragonslayer," Dilandau explained, gesturing agitatedly with his free hand. "Even when I let it get personal I still hated you. You were always the target, always the focus of the mission, always my..." his voice faltered slightly, "...my obsession. You are the most consistent thing in my life, Van. Even now, when I can't trust my own perspective or my own motives anymore, you're still here."  
  
"You are the most irritatingly egotistical person I know," Van snorted. He poked his silent companion in the arm, trying to get his attention. "Why in the world you think you can't trust yourself is beyond me." His bright expression wilted when Dilandau finally turned to face him again, pale brows scored with solemn urgency.   
  
"I trust you, Van," he said resolutely, "and that scares me. Listen to me, would you?! I'm the leader of the Dragonslayers! Nothing scares me! But I feel like everything I prided myself on before has been exposed and worn away, and there's nothing left but this." He clutched the ribbon with both hands, trying to understand his words even as he said them. "Everything's changed. I don't know what to think anymore, about Zaibach, or this damned war, or anything...but I *know* I don't hate you anymore."  
  
Van stared at his companion, mouth agape. "Dilandau..." shaking his head slowly as he trailed off, at a complete loss for words.  
  
"If I can't trust my own guts to know who my enemy is, how can I even call myself a soldier?" He laughed hoarsely, his shoulders shaking as he curled in on himself. His voice muffled, he added around his crazed laughter, "You know what will happen when I go back to Zaibach? They'll say I've lost it. 'Dilandau's lost his touch, he's gone soft.' Then Folken will call those damned Madoshi and they'll suck whatever soul I have left right out of me."   
  
"Dilandau, listen. Look at me." Van leaned forward and placed his hands on Dilandau's shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. He brought his head up, peering desperately through his shock of silver hair like a caged animal.   
  
"I don't want to be their puppet," he whispered, "I've fought so hard to keep what little there is left of me, the things that I *know* are part of me and not some program they inject into me...and now they'll just shove it all back down again."   
  
"Listen to me," Van repeated more firmly. "You trust me, right? So you have to believe me when I tell you that you can trust your own judgment. You're a survivor. Your heart will tell you who would die to keep their word of honor, and who would sooner stab you in the back than look at you."  
  
Dilandau appeared to have calmed somewhat, but when the young king made to move away from him, he seized his wrists in a death grip. His face was mere centimeters from Van's, his bright crimson eyes wide with pained fascination like a child witnessing the darker side of human nature for the first time.  
  
"I don't want to be known as their experiment. How will you remember me?"  
  
Without a moment's hesitation, Van replied, "You are more than an experiment, or an enemy. Whether you're the perfect soldier or even the stubborn idiot who hates cold and is horribly vain and plays with matches, it doesn't matter. I'll remember you as a person."  
  
Dilandau smiled then, a genuine smile free of the angry, jaded fetters that had forced it before. It bridged the divide between the crazed soldier hunting for the enemy and the lost, innocent child who was simply searching for a companion. "I've never had anybody to watch my back before. I owe you my life," he said finally, though it had a much deeper meaning at that moment than it had even after Van's angelic rescue.  
  
The Fanelian boy returned the smile, adding with a laugh, "We'll watch out for *each other*." He threw his right arm over Dilandau's shoulder, embracing him like a brother or a longtime friend. Dilandau returned the gesture, still gripping Van's wrist, the red length of ribbon twined around his thin fingers.  
  
It was as they pulled away from each other as friends that the pendant hanging around Van's neck began to glow and a brilliant column of light descended upon them from the sky.  
  
* * *  
  
Aboard the _Crusade_, Hitomi's head suddenly shot up from where she had been staring at the ground far below. She whirled to find the others watching her, Merle nervously gnawing at a claw, Allen with his jaw held at an anxious angle.   
  
The girl from the Mystic Moon smiled and called across the airship's bridge, "It worked! The pendant just transported them somewhere!"  
  
Merle bounded over and tugged at Hitomi's collar. "Where? Where did they go?" she demanded. Hitomi shook out of the cat-girl's death grip and shook her head.  
  
"I can't tell for some reason. Maybe the pendant is blocking my sight, I'm not sure." Merle's eyes narrowed dangerously and she nearly climbed atop Hitomi's shoulders in frustration.  
  
"Then what good does it do us to know that they've been sent somewhere?!" As she reached back with one hand to try knocking the wanted information out of her rival, Allen caught her arm and hauled her out of the way.  
  
"Very simple, Merle," he explained calmly, "the fact that the pendant worked means that they've come to some sort of an agreement. What that may be, we have no way of knowing, but we can surmise that the two of them are at least holding some kind of truce."  
  
"But how do we find them?" Millerna asked, voicing the question that was next in everyone's mind. "If Hitomi can't see where they are, how in the world will we ever be able to locate them?"  
  
"We'll do a sweep of the area," Allen assured her, "and Folken promised that if he found them, he'd make sure Van found his way back here. They're big boys, people. They can take care of themselves."  
  
- TO BE CONTINUED - 


	6. For What It's Worth

Egad! This is it! The final chapter! Now aren't you glad I didn't   
drag this thing out over the course of three years or so? I'm glad.   
I'm pretty happy with how this has turned out. I even like the   
ending, which is usually a source of frustration for me. But fear   
not! A sequel has its little claws sunk into my brain, so if you   
aren't satisfied, be patient. (I left the yaoi out of this one...  
I have to stick in there *somewhere*, ne? ^_~ )  
  
They're still not mine...  
  
  
  
  
=== "Red Threads" by Morgan Steelgrave - Chapter Five ===  
  
  
  
Early morning guymelef inspection was routinely held before the sun rose to meet the Zaibach airships where they hovered in just above the mountains. Even in Dilandau's absence, the scheduled life of his soldiers continued. None of the Dragonslayers had any idea where their leader had gone or when he would be back, but they all agreed that letting things slack off was not an option. They were putting the final spit-polish on their suits in anticipation of Dilandau's return when a blinding column of light suddenly shattered the pre-dawn quiet. Two silhouetted forms could be discerned through the glare, and the Zaibach soldiers jumped backward several feet and drew their swords at the strange occurrence.  
  
The two bodies slowly sank to the ground, though the sensation of floating did not cease for several long minutes even after they landed heavily on the hard steel floor. Van shook his head to loosen the dizziness that gripped him. He had not dared open his eyes, for fear of being blinded and of the nausea that would surely overtake him. Finally risking a glance at the outside world, he opened one eye and immediately froze upon catching Dilandau's warning gaze. Maroon eyes flickering rapidly from left to right, Van suddenly realized why Dilandau was on edge: they had been deposited on the _Vione_.  
  
"It's Dilandau-sama!" a blonde boy in a Dragonslayer uniform cried happily, "He's brought back the Dragon, too!" At Chesta's herald, the other soldiers approached, all grins, though they remained ready to attack the elusive king of Fanelia.  
  
Acutely aware of the soldiers circling them, the two young men never let their eyes stray from one another as they silently got to their feet. The tension was apparent to everyone in the room, especially the Dragonslayers, who were accustomed to being attuned to their leader's arbitrary mood swings and whims. The soldiers passed confused glances between them as their smiles faded somewhat, wondering why nothing had happened yet. The least they had expected from Dilandau was a screaming match, if not a massacre of the hated Dragon. Assuming this limbo was merely the calm before the storm, they closed in slowly, weapons trained on Van Fanel, until a sudden order shattered the heavy silence and nearly made them jump out of their skins.  
  
"Hold your positions," Dilandau barked roughly, still not moving. The Dragonslayers froze, but did not stand down. "No one is to make a move until I say so."  
  
"Um...Dilandau-sama?" ventured Migel, who had been in temporary command during Dilandau's sudden unexplained absence. When his leader did not reply, he tried again. "Dilandau-sama, forgive us for intruding, but what's going on, sir? Don't you want us to--"   
  
"What did I just say?" the silver-haired boy demanded in the same controlled voice. "This is *my* battle. Anyone who lays a finger on the Dragon will eat it. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
The soldiers remained at a respectful but cautious distance, in complete and utter bewilderment at the situation. It was only a matter of seconds before Chesta's blue eyes fell on the ribbon binding the two arch-rivals together.  
  
"Dilandau-sama, what's that ribbon? What have they done to you?" he squealed in surprise, clapping a hand over his own mouth when he realized he had voiced the question aloud. His fellow soldiers glared at him, hissing at him to be quiet. Amazingly, Dilandau did not fly off the handle at Chesta's impertinence.  
  
"It's crima claw metal. We need a welder to cut it." Migel took the hint and turned to one of the other Dragonslayers.  
  
"Gatti, send for a solderknife from Equipment," he ordered. The other boy nodded once and ran over to the communications terminal at the other end of the long room. Turning his attention back to the two men at the center of the group, Migel explained to his commander with a hopeful smile, "All the welding equipment was taken in yesterday for an inventory check. We'll have a solderknife here as soon as possible to remedy the situation, Dilandau-sama."  
  
Dilandau did not appear to be paying any attention to his squadron, however. His crimson eyes were still trained on the young king of Fanelia, who returned his stare with an intense claret one of his own. Van felt like a fly caught in a spider's web. It was only a matter of time until fate in one horrible guise or another descended upon him. The unreadable expression on Dilandau's face was not helping his nerves, either. It was impossible to tell if the connection they had made in the woods was about to be permanently severed, along with the ribbon.  
  
The sound of echoing footfalls hailed the arrival of the solderknife, a shorter man with his long grey hair slicked back into a ponytail and thick gauntlets that made his lower arms look disproportionate to the rest of his wiry body.  
  
"What was the emergency?" he asked in a grating nasal voice, plainly irritated that he had been drawn away from whatever work he had been doing at the time of Gatti's message. The Dragonslayers moved apart to allow the man access to their commander, when there came a beeping noise from the communications terminal.  
  
"Dilandau-sama!" Gatti called from the terminal, "it's a priority clearance message for you from the Strategos!"  
  
Eyeing the solderknife warily as he went to work on the ribbon, the leader of the Dragonslayers commanded coolly, "Migel, answer it. Code 957-63-Alpha. I'm a little busy at the moment."  
  
"Yes, sir," Migel nodded in salute, ordering with a meaningful look the other Dragonslayers to stay on their guard. He jogged over to where Gatti was standing, nervously chewing on a fingernail. Migel caught him by the arm and whispered, "Did you notify Folken-sama of his arrival?"  
  
"Of course," Gatti hissed, "he said he was on his way down here and signed off the message. Then two minutes later this message from him appeared." The terminal beeped again as second message, one with a code-red tag from General Pike, reached the system. Brows knitted together, Migel entered the authorization number and opened the code-red channel first.  
  
The solderknife was almost finished with his task. He directed a jet of coolant gas onto the ribbon from a hand-held tank, waiting for the metal to freeze. Both Dilandau and Van watched him work, their eyes finding their way occasionally to the armed Dragonslayers surrounding them. Van suddenly decided he would rather face a land dragon any day than an entire squad of Dragonslayers in their base of operations.  
  
"Almost ready," the welder announced in a dry whine, blatantly ignoring standard military protocol by omitting both the title and name of the officer to whom he was speaking. He inspected the ribbon, noting the layer of frost on the metal with a satisfied grunt. Reaching back behind him for a hammer and the appropriate chisel, he added, "This thing is a piece of work. It takes a real genius to work crima metal like this."  
  
Dilandau's attention was occupied by the increasing uproar by the communications terminal, however, and it took a moment for the solderknife's words to register. Even then, the Dragonslayer did not seem bothered by the lack of respect. Glancing down at the little man only briefly, he questioned with an arched brow, "You mean a genius like Folken?"  
  
The solderknife pursed his lips and squinted at the selection of chisels in his belt before choosing one. "Like Folken, yes. He's the only one I know of who fully understands how the stuff works."  
  
Dilandau did not even bother to nod in reply. He was too busy watching Migel and Gatti arguing with whoever was on the other end of the viewscreen. He cast a significant look in Van's direction, silently voicing the warning that there might be trouble.  
  
The dark-haired boy, too, was straining to hear what the commotion at the other end of the room was about. He did not like the turn things were taking, especially if Dilandau of all people was worried. He could barely make out what the Dragonslayers at the terminal were saying above the loud banging the solderknife was making as he chipped away at the frozen bond.  
  
"No, General Pike, sir, I don't understand why it's necessary. We have everything under control," Migel was saying in response to the scowling, mustachioed man on the other end of the communiqué. The officer's reply was inaudible, but the surprise and alarm were plain on the faces of the two young men's faces.  
  
"You're sending the...the...but why?" Gatti demanded, obviously shaken by whatever the general had said. Migel seemed similarly unnerved, even on the verge of anger.  
  
"I will not go against my commander unless you give me a damn good reason for those orders, sir," he said around gritted teeth. "I know you outrank him, but...what? They did what? How can you...?" Migel stared right at Van and Dilandau, his expression changing from one of frustration to resigned understanding. "I see. Yes, sir. We'll hold them until they arrive."  
  
"I don't like the looks of this," Van whispered to Dilandau, who watched Migel and Gatti terminate the communications link and draw their weapons. The other Dragonslayers had taken notice of their actions, as well, and stood ready to act.  
  
"Dilandau-sama!" Migel called as he approached, "Please stay where you are, sir."  
  
"Is it true what they said, Dilandau-sama?" Gatti asked, the hurt and uncertainty audible in his voice.  
  
The solderknife struck one final blow at the red ribbon, and it shattered into tiny silver splinters. Dilandau remained rooted to the spot, rubbing his right wrist absently as the little welder took his tools and scurried away. He narrowed his eyes at his soldiers, but remained in control on the surface. Van held still as well, not wanting to be the one to tip the precarious balance that hung in the air.  
  
"I don't know, Gatti. Who is 'they' and what have they been saying?"  
  
Gatti opened his mouth to answer, but Migel cut him off. "General Pike said he was ordered to call in special forces because you've been declared a liability, sir." The other Dragonslayers looked at each other, searching for some kind of explanation.  
  
Dilandau's laughter had a manic edge to it. "That's nothing new, Migel. Almost everyone in Zaibach, General Pike included, thinks I'm a danger to some degree." His tone darkened as he added quietly, "They may be right."  
  
"This is different, sir," Gatti insisted. "He said you were wanted for questioning because of your disappearance. He said they suspect you of betraying the cause."  
  
"The Strategos is on his way. His original instructions were to notify him as soon as you returned, but General Pike is insisting we detain you here until the special forces arrive." Migel paused, as if he were trying to understand his next words. "He said any attempts to intervene could be hazardous for both you and the rest of the Dragonslayers."  
  
"Special...forces?" Dilandau suddenly appeared even paler than usual. From his close position Van immediately noticed the sheen of nervous sweat that had broken out at his temples, despite the sneer of disgust that dominated his expression. He wondered what could cause the leader of the Dragonslayers to recoil in such a manner.  
  
"Yes, sir," Migel replied in an edgy monotone. "General Pike called in the Madoshi per Dornkirk-sama's direct orders, though I don't know why he felt they were necessary."   
  
Van knew the chill he felt at those words had to be tenfold for Dilandau, though the silver-haired boy would never show it beyond the tiny, momentary glint of fear that leaped into his garnet eyes. The young king of Fanelia also noted that the rest of the Dragonslayers were not very happy about the involvement of the notorious party, either.  
  
"I see," Dilandau mused, swallowing the panic Van knew had to be there. "And the Dragon?"  
  
"He is still to be turned over to Folken-sama's custody, sir." Migel's voice held no emotion whatsoever. It was silent for a moment, the atmosphere growing heavier and nerves more strained as the seconds skipped by.   
  
There was a choked noise to the right, and Chesta whispered shakily, "Dilandau-sama, are you really a traitor?" His eyes shone imploringly, all but begging for some explanation for the accusations made against his beloved leader.  
  
A tired smile crossed Dilandau's face as he lifted a hand behind his head, massaging a knotted muscle in his neck. "I don't know, Chesta. Am I a traitor to the cause? Maybe," he sighed, his brow creased deliberately. "But I can tell you this. I will never be a traitor to myself."  
  
He shifted suddenly, his movements so rapid that no one had time to react as the leader of the Dragonslayers reached behind his back and drew the hidden dagger, sidestepping neatly behind Van and holding the blade to his throat. He pressed himself against Van's back, gripping the other boy's left arm so tightly it marked the skin.   
  
Momentarily shocked by Dilandau's actions, Van barely had time to bring a hand up in an attempt to wrestle the knife from his grasp before the albino boy had him effectively pinned. The dark-haired boy swallowed nervously, feeling the edge of the titanium blade tease his neck slightly, drawing a fine line of red.  
  
Yet even as he felt the blood well and trickle slowly down to his collarbone, mirroring the panic in his heart and mind, Dilandau whispered so close to his ear that it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  
  
"Trust me."  
  
Van could make no reply, but struggled less fiercely against his friend's iron hold. Dilandau relaxed his grip minutely. He knew Van understood.  
  
The reality of the situation was poised a few feet away, now fanned out to cover the movements of the two young men as they backed slowly toward the rail overlooking the guymelef launching bay.   
  
"Please, Dilandau-sama, don't make this any harder than it already is," Chesta cried. "We don't want to attack you, but we have our orders. Just give the Dragon over to Folken's custody and come with us." Dilandau smirked from behind his prey.  
  
"I told you before, this is *my* battle, Dornkirk's fate be damned. My honor is at stake here," he called, his eyes darting to take in the movements of each and every body in the room. "It doesn't concern you. So just back down!"  
  
At that point, the doors to the right opened and in marched the Madoshi, with Folken right at their heels. His countenance was strained, as though he were suffering an awful headache. He kept trying to speak to the black-robed men, but they ignored him and continued to approach the cornered Van and Dilandau.  
  
Van had heard plenty about the unscrupulous magicians of Zaibach, but he had never before encountered one personally. Three of them were about Folken's height, wrapped in floor-length black cloaks, their faces hidden in shadow. Four were considerably shorter, their cloaks brushing behind their knees instead. What was visible of their legs was wrapped tightly in black, their bootless feet making no sound as they glided across the metal floor. The movements of the taller ones were eerie, but the more diminutive Madoshi moved with calculated, padding strides like animals on the hunt. The Fanelian boy shuddered involuntarily. He was almost certain he saw yellow eyes glowing in the dark recesses of their hoods.  
  
"Dilandau Albatou, you are to come with us," one of the taller Madoshi intoned. Dilandau stiffened slightly. It was just like Dornkirk to send the Madoshi, though the Snipers were a surprise. He was not quite sure if he should be flattered or not by the presence of the elite Madoshi killers. His ruby eyes narrowed to angry slits as he nudged the dagger closer to Van's throat.   
  
"Like hell!" he hissed. "I'm going to finish what I started here, Folken! You tell those witches to get out or so help me I'll take every one of them down after I get through with your brother, here!" To Van, he whispered, "The secondary 'melef bay is down the hall straight ahead, to the left. When I tell you to, fight me to get loose and run." The Fanelian boy was wondering what the half-crazed Zaibach soldier meant by "finish", but he kept his mouth shut.  
  
Folken held his arms out wide, his robe falling away to reveal both flesh and metal. "Dilandau, this is beyond my control. It was a direct order from Dornkirk-sama that the Madoshi be brought in. My hands are tied."  
  
"Very funny, Folken. Mine aren't," Dilandau spat. Folken sighed resignedly, dropping his clockwork arm and holding the other out to the young man.  
  
"Let Van go, Dilandau, and just turn yourself over to the Madoshi. Make things easier on us all."  
  
Folken's words seemed to have an effect on the Dragonslayer, because the dagger lowered slightly, his grip on Van loosening. Staring directly at the Madoshi, he whispered, "Now."  
  
Jerking his left arm free, Van elbowed his captor hard in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He then turned and struck upward with the same arm, catching the pale boy in the jaw and throwing him backward. Seizing the opportunity, Van grabbed Dilandau by the arm before he could lose his balance completely and tugged him into a full run, steering him forward through the confused mass of Dragonslayers and Madoshi and down the long hallway.  
  
"You could have been a little more gentle," Dilandau chided sarcastically as he was dragged along the corridor at a breakneck pace, still holding his ribs. "The plan was for you to run, not to take me with you."  
  
Van shook his head. "No way I'm leaving you to those monsters," he insisted between breaths. "Come on, we're almost there."  
  
They could barely hear the swift, weightless footsteps of the Madoshi in pursuit. Van stretched his legs as far as they would go, lengthening his strides until his muscles creaked in protest. His breath tore raggedly, desperately from his lungs, in rhythm with Dilandau's as he ran alongside him. Realizing that their prey was about to get away, the four Snipers dropped to their knees, throwing their cloaks to the side. Holding their left arms out in front of them, they aimed four gleaming metal crossbows at their prey. As one mind they released the triggers, without even a signal between them, firing a volley of arrows at the backs of the retreating fugitives.  
  
Dilandau let out a grunt of pain as an arrow found the back of his knee. He stumbled, almost falling to the floor and taking Van with him. "Damn it," he growled through gritted teeth as he tugged the arrow out of his leg. Drawing his dagger again, he adopted a ready stance. "I'll hold them off. I'll be okay, you run!"  
  
Van refused to move as he braced himself to fight the fast-approaching Madoshi. "I won't leave you here!"  
  
Dilandau glanced back at him over one shoulder, eyes bright with a cocktail of adrenaline and emotion. "Go, damn you! I owe you this! Let me keep my word and even the score!" His cries were frustrated, almost pleading with Van as the enemy grew ever closer.  
  
They held their desperate gaze for one more second before Van nodded, placing a hand on Dilandau's shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze. He then turned and ran down the corridor, leaving Dilandau to fight the Madoshi.  
  
He made it halfway before the sounds of battle reached his ears. He could hear Dilandau's shouts and the ringing of metal on metal even over his own heartbeat coursing wildly in his ears. Despite Dilandau's entreaties for him to simply leave, Van skidded to a halt, his concern for his friend too great.  
  
What he saw at the end of the hall was breathtaking; no more complete embodiment of a true soldier existed on the planet at that moment. Dilandau was fighting like a man possessed, accepting the challenge of battling four opponents at once with a grim smile, and suddenly Van understood. There was nothing left in Dilandau's life but the opportunity to be honest with himself, the point of having any defenses long since past, the veils lifted and the walls torn down. There was no choice left *but* to attack, and it was absolutely beautiful, even as his ground dwindled, his injuries and their greater numbers soon shifting the advantage. It was not long before the silver hair was no longer visible through the savage attacks of the four Madoshi warriors.  
  
"Dilandau!" Van cried, unable to stand any more of the brutal scene. He started to sprint forward, but a large body suddenly blocked his path as Folken stepped out of one of the side doorways. Van glared up at him, tears of helplessness and resentment threatening to fall as he struggled against his brother's impeding grasp. "Let me go! I have to help him!" he cried, trying to get around the much larger body.  
  
"Van, there is nothing you can do for him now," Folken said firmly. He gripped his younger brother's shoulders and forced him to meet his gaze. "They've got him. He'll be alright, I promise. But you have to leave now."  
  
Van stared at the Strategos in shocked disbelief. Folken released him, but still blocked his path toward the place where the Madoshi were hauling Dilandau upright, the Dragonslayer simply too exhausted and pained to strike back anymore, his waning cries of rage and desperation echoing in the metal corridor. The younger Fanel brought his hollow stare back to meet his brother's, still unmoving.  
  
"Go. I won't strike you while you're down." The taller man's voice dropped to a low murmur, his countenance softening slightly. Van returned his gaze with a silent, pained expression, then turned and ran headlong for the edge of the hangar. Vaulting over the rail, he plummeted between two inert Alseides models until he was clear of the _Vione_, then unfurled his wings and glided down to the forest below.  
  
Folken watched his brother fall until his wings caught an updraft and slowed his descent to an easy drift. So much for his plan to make their lives easier. He turned with a sigh, striding purposefully over to where Dilandau was hanging limp between two Snipers at the other end of the passageway. Folken fought the urge to grimace. The Madoshi exuded a sensation of dank, musty evil that assaulted the senses like the undead. The Strategos knew he was considered eerie to the rest of the crew of the _Vione_, but he hoped his icy indifference never brought to mind thoughts of rigor mortis. He shoved the unpleasantness to the back of his mind, coming to stand in front of the beaten and bleeding young man. Two crimson eyes still smoldered dully from behind the silver curtain of his bangs, though the left one was now nearly swollen shut with a blossoming purple bruise.  
  
"Bad form, Folken," he croaked. Folken tilted his head slightly, finding no point in being anything but candid with his captured colleague.  
  
"For what it's worth, Dilandau, I did not intend for things to end this way," he said.  
  
"None of us did, I think," Dilandau agreed quietly. The Strategos sighed, waving a hand dismissively to the Snipers.  
  
"You can release him for now. He won't run." After a second's hesitation, the Madoshi complied, though they remained alert a few feet away, yellow eyes glinting from behind their hoods. Dilandau managed to stand upright uncertainly, though his leg was beginning to really ache where the Sniper arrow had found it.  
  
Wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth, he asked, "Why the ribbon?" He had no need to elaborate any further. Folken smiled ruefully.  
  
"You were becoming quite reckless in your vendetta against Van, and so was he," he explained. "Dornkirk was not what one would call pleased. He wanted you hauled away to the Madoshi immediately. I suggested an alternative."  
  
"Which was what? Tie us up in the woods, let us beat the shit out of each other, *then* turn me over to the witches?" Dilandau spat. "Was that your idea of a joke, you half-breed tin can bastard? Did you think I'd find it *funny*, Folken?"  
  
"No," the Strategos replied patiently, "the idea was to get the two of you to work out whatever was eating away at you, away from Zaibach or the war or anything else. Unfortunately, Dornkirk apparently decided to go ahead and take this shining opportunity to put you back in your place, anyway." Glancing at the Snipers, Folken added dryly, "And I don't think it's just going to be a slap on the wrist, either."  
  
"Hn," Dilandau snorted, managing to take a few steps forward without too much difficulty. He slowly approached the black-cloaked man, eyes narrowed, chin held high. "I just have one thing to say to you, Folken," he murmured so only the taller man could hear. Folken raised a questioning eyebrow, but before he could say a word Dilandau threw his entire body weight forward, landing a punch square on the Strategos' jaw.  
  
Folken staggered back with the blow, his human hand rising to cup the side of his face. He watched remorsefully as the Madoshi pounced on Dilandau within seconds, subduing him further as one Sniper signaled for the others to bring a waiting gurney over. Still holding his throbbing jaw, Folken leaned over the collapsed Dragonslayer in order to hear the words his bloodied mouth was trying to form.  
  
"Thank you," the battered young man whispered with a trace of a lopsided smile, before his head dropped to the floor, slipping mercifully beyond awareness.  
  
The Strategos stood to one side as the Madoshi shifted their subject to the gurney and strapped him down. "You know you probably won't remember anything when they're done with you," he murmured to the unconscious boy as he placed his cybernetic hand on the side rail of the gurney. The Madoshi ushered him out of the way as they carried Dilandau off to be "corrected". Folken remained in the corridor until the sorcerers were gone, his head pounding even more painfully as the weight of all the correcting he was going to have to do himself dawned on him.  
  
His mind strayed back to Dilandau's last words as he walked slowly back to the guymelef bay. The guilt he felt was not due to his plan failing, he realized; rather events had run their proper course even better than he had ever expected. It was that his plan had worked *too* well. Instead of their passionate hatred for each other canceling out, Van and Dilandau had transferred that energy into a connection of jaded soldiers' souls somewhere along their journey in the woods. Van seemed to have regained some of the belief in himself that he had lost over the years in Folken's own shadow. He had genuinely believed he could help his friend in the hallway, or die trying. Folken doubted his little brother would ever hesitate to attack during a battle ever again.  
  
And as for Dilandau, he had gained more than a soul mate who could understand the sometimes self-destructive working of his mind. For the first time in his life, he was more than an experiment called the perfect soldier. He had been human, if just for a little while.  
  
Maybe it had been worth it. As Folken began to smooth things over with the other Dragonslayers and offer some kind of explanation for the events of the past few days, however, he knew he could not quite bring himself to say that everything would be okay.  
  
* * *   
  
Hitomi watched Van from the doorway leading into the small lower observation deck positioned below the bridge of the _Crusade_. True to his word, Folken had contacted them and given them the vicinity of the forest in which they would locate the Fanelian king. When questioned about Van's condition, the Strategos simply replied, "He will heal," before terminating the communications link.  
  
After finding Van unconscious on the forest floor, bruised and cut in several places but physically whole for the most part, Allen and his crew hauled him aboard the ship and they took off for their next scheduled destination, the kingdom of Freid.  
  
Van spent a day in the sickbay for observations with Millerna insisting on checking him for further undetectable injuries, but the young king never complained. He remained silent to the point of worrying Merle and even Allen. Van had always been a stoic, but the spoiled prince in him had never missed an opportunity to give orders or get his way. The fact that he was not ranting about their plot to leave him in the woods was disturbing. When Millerna was satisfied with his physical condition, if not his state of mind, Van retreated to the observation deck without a word to anyone and stood watching the countryside roll by far below for hours at a time.  
  
Hitomi hoped Van just needed time to sort out all that had happened to him in the last few days, but she was concerned that it was time they did not have. They needed Van and Escaflowne in case Freid decided to ally with Zaibach, and they all knew the Hitomi was the only one who could reach Van and help him pull himself back together in time for the battle if there was one.  
  
"Van?" she ventured hesitantly, stepping into the room and standing a few feet behind the young man. He said nothing in reply, and the girl could not read his expression behind the bandage that still covered a nasty cut over one eyebrow. Hoping she was doing the right thing, Hitomi went on, "Van, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what we did to you. We meant well, I promise, but we still shouldn't have gone behind your back and left you out there. I'm sorry."  
  
"Why?" Van asked quietly, still staring out through the glass. "What possessed you to do something like that?"  
  
"It was Folken's idea initially," the girl explained, staring at her running shoes. "We all agreed that your fight with Dilandau was getting out of hand. The idea was to get you two to work out your differences and hopefully things would calm down some."  
  
"Did it ever occur to you to just ask me to not obsess so much, maybe?" The question was soft, but it still stung the brown-haired girl.  
  
"Would it have done any good?" she demanded. "You never do anything by halves, Van. If you hate someone, you hate every bone in their body. And if you love someone, you may not admit it, but you do it with every fiber of your being. I'm sorry it happened, I really am, but at the time it seemed like the right thing to do. I still think it was."  
  
"I'm not the one you need to apologize to," Van said, turning to face her for the first time since the entire incident. His eyes were cradled in dark circles, betraying how deep the fatigue of his ordeal ran. "At least I'm not going to be tortured because I was sent off on some Archenemies Anonymous retreat against my will."  
  
Hitomi brought a hand up to cover her mouth, emerald eyes wide in shock. "Oh, Van, I'm so sorry," she cried. "You mean he's--"  
  
"Yes, by the Madoshi," Van finished the phrase for her. He approached her, walking carefully to avoid causing any more undue pain in his aching muscles. "He manages to free himself from their oppressive mind-control games for just a little while, and he gets shoved back under water before he has time to appreciate the breath of air he's just taken."  
  
"That's horrible..." the girl from the Mystic Moon murmured. Looking back up at Van, she asked, "So I take it you two came to a truce?" Hitomi hoped with all her heart that they had. Van nodded thoughtfully.  
  
"We understand each other," he agreed. "We found out we aren't alone. I have to at least thank you for that." His expression softened fractionally, his face partially silhouetted by the shades of deepening blue that slowly overtook the evening world on the other side of the glass.   
  
Trying to point out the silver lining, Hitomi smiled. "Then even with all the bad things you've gone through, and the hurt you're feeling, maybe it was worth it. You found someone who can understand how you feel, someone you can trust. That's all we wanted to do, was help you find that." Van's dark brows came together slightly, and he gazed at the green-eyed girl for a long minute.  
  
"Be careful what you wish for, Hitomi," he said quietly, placing something in her hand and closing her small fingers around it. His claret eyes pained, Van searched for the words he wanted to say. The girl met his gaze hopefully, but he simply blinked hard and set his jaw tightly. "Give it back to me when I can trust you again." With that he turned and left the observation deck, leaving Hitomi standing alone in front of the large windows. In her hand was her pendant.  
  
Choking back the confused distress she felt at Van's words, she took a deep breath and forced herself to rationalize things before she gave in to her emotions and let the panic she felt at the utter unfairness of it all overtake her. They had accomplished what she and Folken had set out to do, and that was to cool the anger between Van and Dilandau. In the process, Van had found in his enemy a fellow soldier who could empathize with his thoughts and feelings as a warrior better than any of the rest of them could. That was a good thing, Hitomi repeated firmly to herself. Maybe Van could not trust her again quite yet because of what she did, but it was worth it. He would forgive her, she knew. That was simply the way Van was.  
  
But even as she tried to rationalize everything in her mind, Hitomi stared blankly down at the pendant still clutched in her hand, and she knew that this time, she could not convince herself that everything would be okay.  
  
- FIN - 


End file.
